evolution
by Jixie
Summary: The beast it was before it evolved into a bird. Gordon, his tomatoes, where it begins.


_---  
evolution_  
Fanfic by Jixie 8/4/06  
The BIG-O © SUNRISE INC  
---

It had been raining, on and off, for three days now. Immersed in his work,  
Gordon Rosewater hardly noticed the changing weather... but after so much  
rain the mildew began to creep in, its stink filling the decrepit rooms of  
the orphanage. It was an unpleasant distraction.

The book lay open on the counter, amidst the measuring tools, unwashed  
equipment, and vials of indispensable chemicals. He was preparing for the  
next batch, and there was still so much to be done. He worked, tireless and  
unrelenting, into the late hours of the night. The memory was a fire inside  
him, a powerful motivating force that moved him to action.

The book was open, empty and waiting.

_tap - tap - tap_

The sound was so faint-- and he so occupied with his work-- that he didn't  
notice it at first. Like the rain it would stop and wait, before starting  
again.

He heard it finally, and ignored it. There was no time for distractions, no  
time for interruptions.

_tap - tap - tap_

Gordon huffed, unable to excuse the persistent knocking any longer. He set  
aside his notes, shuffled around some of the instruments that set on the  
counter before him, and flipped out the lights before leaving the room. He  
locked to the door to the laboratory-- both locks.

The knocking came from the main entryway. It was not far, but it still took  
a minute for him to get there. The sound had stopped once more, and for a  
moment he wondered if he should go back to the lab.

The main entry was rarely used, the front door hadn't been opened in ages,  
and it was stuck tight. Gordon struggled to pull it open and it came loose  
with a jolt, swinging back and banging against the opposite wall. He tried  
to look imposing, but as he glanced outside he faltered.

A young girl stood under the overhang, huddled close to the doorway. She  
was damp from the rain, the delicate curls of her hair frizzled from the  
humidity.

It was one of them.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

She looked up at him and blinked slowly. "I..." Her eyes were dull and dis-  
oriented, lost in a trance of forgotten memories. "...is this home?" she  
asked finally, sounding the words out carefully.

He took her by the shoulder and guided her inside, gently shutting the door  
behind them.

It was one from the last group, one he'd finished only a couple years  
before. This girl had been one of the oldest, but it was still too early... far  
too early... for any them to remember. Whatever memory had led her to  
this place must have been a fluke, a mistake...

No, not a mistake, he realized with a start. She was going bad.

It was disheartening, all that hard work wasted. While he was already in  
preparation for the next group, it hurt to know that another batch had gone  
rotten. And so _soon_ after they were done.

"This isn't your home, little girl. You're lost. Where did you come from?"

She flinched, still dazed, still confused. "Where did I come from?" she  
echoed. "Where? I... I know this place... I know this..."

He looked down at her, timid and pretty. She couldn't have been more than  
fourteen. It was too early, even for a failed crop.

"Please, help me. Where am I? Why do I remember... this place?"

He was curious if the others had already begun to go bad. Not that it  
mattered, once it started they would all become rotten in time; the  
intrepid leader, the audacious enforcer, the psychopath abomination, the  
inquisitive intellect. Each and every damn one of them, a shameful waste  
of his hard work.

The girl, who was now focused on Gordon, would not be ignored. She   
grabbed his hand, strong and calloused, in her own petite hands and clutched  
them against her chest. He felt her nails scratching his skin, strands of pale  
blonde hair, the wet blouse and tender skin.

It was too soon. Why was she here?

She spoke again, a lilting flurry of foreign words. He had half a mind to  
throw her out. Instead, he led her back to the laboratory. A few simple  
questions revealed that she really didn't remember much, so he told her  
bits and pieces of half-truths along the way. It would be enough to push  
her in the right direction.

It was impossible to let them know any part of the truth, be they success  
or failure. He never offered anything beyond clues of what might've been.

They reached the lab and he quickly unlocked it and ushered her in. Hints  
of answers always got them thinking, searching. Eager to find out more, she  
gladly followed his directions. It was too soon, but...

There was a Memory inside of her, waiting to be realized.

He locked the door from inside-- both locks. "Pardon," she asked, "what...?"

Now that it had started, Gordon knew what was required. He was a little  
uncomfortable, realizing how young she still was, but the memory was a fire  
inside of him. A terrible, rousing force that moved him into action.

Gordon didn't know if he'd have this opportunity again, and although the  
timing was off, he had to act now. It was the fire that fueled his work,  
his destiny. He reached out for her, fingers grabbing a handful of her  
blouse. She looked up at him, eyes wide. She knew.

"Don't." The girl backed away, tried to push him aside. "_Non._" It was too  
late, her memories had already led her back to this place, and things must  
be brought to full circle. He pinned her against the counter, equipment and  
flasks shoved aside, shattering violently onto the floor. Neither noticed   
the sound of breaking glass-- only trembling, struggled breaths. Neither  
noticed the smell of the damp moldy building-- only sweat, and the faint  
clinging remains of flowery perfume.

She didn't scream when he took her, but she wept, and she bled.

The book was open, the blank pages ready for the next memory to be written  
in. He'd marked his place with a torn photograph, the memory of Memories  
burning inside and out. The fire was red, the tomatoes, the book, the blood.

When it was over, he kissed her head, the golden curls that were a tangled  
mess on the floor of his laboratory. Assured that she would bring a Memory  
into the world, he left her to lie there, and went back to his work.

In the morning he would send her away, outside of the city, to a place where  
flowers still bloomed. It would be a matter of weeks before the memories  
of her childhood now would blend with the artificially placed memories  
of the experiment, and the inadvertent memories of foreign life produced  
from her rotting mind. She would remember her name was Vera, and she  
would forget how she became pregnant, or how she ended up outside of  
Paradigm. It was their own little destiny, the roles they were compelled to   
act out. Gordon was too busy, and the work too important, to feel guilty  
about it.

In the end, it would be only a brief passing note mentioned on a page in  
Metropolis.

-fin


End file.
